


even the stars are faking it (they still seal our fates though, so it's better to act like we don't know they're already dead)

by TheDragonHunter



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Drinking, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Lots of it, Memories, Smoking, Swearing, Talks of Death, Terminal Illnesses, V's got a good heart, don't judge me xD, just a little bit of angst I think, like seriously, look I'm just trying to get Cyberpunk out of my head somehow, v smokes enough to give an engram lung cancer, which is good because Johnny doesn't even have one most of the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonHunter/pseuds/TheDragonHunter
Summary: Death in Night City's about as common, as a cold. Or, even more than that, probably, so it's not like V wasn't expecting it, it's just that he always thought it would be quick. And spectacular, if he had any say in that, but it doesn't matter much now; he's full on dying, so he's going to do the only reasonable thing any man would do in his situation.Namely, chill on a rooftop, get drunk and have a proper slumber party with a construct of one dead rockerboy, currently stuck in his head, duh.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & V
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	even the stars are faking it (they still seal our fates though, so it's better to act like we don't know they're already dead)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know about you, guys, but as much as I love Cyberpunk's story, I can't help but feel like it's... a little rushed, to put it mildly. In other words, it's kinda missing an entire act or two; it promises so much, it could be legendary, but it simply doesn't have the time to deliver. There's no time for us to get properly attached to Jackie, no time to really build a relationship with Johnny, to make the romance options truly deep and meaningful, no time for us to experience the consequences of choices we make; it goes on and on, but I'll just stop right there, before I get into a full on rant about everything that could've been done so much better, and say that all these are not very good things for a story-based RPG this game's supposed to be. Suffice to say, just as I was thinking that I was like, maybe one third down the story and the fun was just getting started, the freakin' credits rolled, and I just sat there, like XD I mean, for fuck's sake, Johnny, you promised me city burning, choom, and we didn't even get to nuke the Arasaka Tower, what the hell.
> 
> ANYWAY, in my own, personal attempt to get rid of the gaping feeling of insufficiency I was left with, here I am, throwing a whole bunch of headcanons into one, outrageously long rooftop scene, of Johnny and V playing some icebreaking question game. It's probably no good, but hey, I gotta make up for what the devs didn't deliver, somehow :D
> 
> Oh, and in case you're one of these people, who enjoy music for their reading, here's what I've been listening to while writing:  
> 'Wishing Well' The Oh Hello's  
> 'Idaho' Gregory Alan Isakov

The air doesn't even smell all that much like it's gonna give one a free lung cancer with the next breath, so V inhales deeply, hungrily, almost, smiling at the soft wheeze in his lungs.

As long as it's there, he's alive, right?

He takes yet another swig from the bottle he's nursing, and looks up at the sky, legs dangling off the edge of the roof and alcohol leaving a burning trail down his throat.

There are no stars above the Night City; there just can't be, it would never let anything else shine in its presence, and if this shithole of a place is anything, it's hungry as fuck, starving, really, feeding on all the light it can get, just to keep on burning. It's V's own fault, that he hadn't realised it earlier, that trying to overshadow it has been a lost cause from the very beginning.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he feels as if he can picture the places where the stars are supposed to be, but when he looks at an old sky map, he bought from some junkie in Pacifica a long time ago, nothing's ever right. It seems like for some reason, he just remembers skies full of stars with names, that have never been given to them and nonexistent constellations, and fuck, he's been wrong in the head even before all that hell broke loose, hasn't he?

„Fuck me, how much more mushy can ya get, kid?”

V scoffs, not bothering to turn his head, and lifting the bottle to his lips.

„I'm dying, choom, cut me some slack,” He's just a _little_ drunk now, not as much as he'd like to. „'Sides, it's not like I invited you here, so yeah. Feel free to just mope inside my head some more, or whatever it is that you do there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Johnny taking a sit on the rooftop next to him, leaning against the small wall V's currently chilling on.

„Can't,” he drawls, taking off his aviators and materializing a cig between his fingers, „you're such a wet cunt, I'd fuckin' drown there.”

V just shrugs.

„You can make it one more night, can't ya? Such a tough guy you are, just grind you're teeth and pretend I'm not there.”

„Yeah, right.” Johnny stays miraculously silent for a moment, flickering slightly in the dimly lit, warm air of a summer night and puffing small clouds of smoke. „So,” he says finally, just as V begins to wonder if he's just glitched or someting, „you're seeing the First Bitch of Arasaka tomorrow, huh? Can't fuckin' wait to see that.”

V nods, catching a small droplet of vodka, running down the bottle, with his tongue.

„Gettin' ya the hell outta my head, choom, that's what I can't wait to see. And 'sides, there's just no point dragging it off any longer. Seen that?” He holds his hand in front of him, fingers trembling so hard, he has to clench them into a fist. „Few more days, and I won't even be able to hold a fuckin' gun, so yeah, that's the last chance for me to give the Saka some shit.”

Johnny doesn't answer to that, and for a while, they just sit there in silence; the night is almost hot, the booze is cold, and there's muffled echo of music, roaring of engines, screams and laughters, coming from the streets below, but it's so far away now, it might just as well be a different world, and it's all so calm, that if V closes his eyes, he can almost imagine nothing's happened; that he's just sitting on the roof alone, waiting for Jackie and Misty to come back with the beers, that his whole body's throbbing with this small pain only because he's had a tough day at job; he can almost imagine, he'll be sitting on this roof and waiting forever and ever, for the rest of his damned life, and the prospect doesn't really seem all that bad.

Johnny groans next to him.

„Kill me. Just fuckin' kill me, put the gun to my head and fuckin' shoot.”

„Okay, fine! Jesus, you're one helluva dramatic bitch.” V takes a few gulps from the bottle and caughs, eyes tearing. „Got any better ideas, anyway? 'Cause thanks to you, Johnny-boy, it's not like I can just go, have one last blast of a party in my life, as much as I wish I fuckin' could.”

„Know what? Do whatever the fuck ya want, I don't care.”

V's just about to take the cue, down the rest of the booze and pass out, when an idea pops in his head.

„A'ight, let's go crazy. We'll play twenty questions, how 'bout that.”

Johnny eyes him incredulously.

„You really are messed up in that brains of yours, ain't ya? I'm literally in your head, it's the most retarded fuckin' idea you had so far.”

„I don't know 'bout ya, choom, but I'd rather get to know someone by talking to 'im, instead of dicking around in his memories. And it'll be way more fun to pretend for a while I'm not sitting here alone, getting drunk and mumbling to myself, like some freakin' cyberpsycho.”

Johnny just looks at him, his expression blank, like he can't believe he's having this conversation, and V snorts.

„Aww, come on, let's do it! Look, how 'bout that: I'll just ask ya ten questions, and I'll even smoke you a cig or two while we're at it, 'cause I'm just that good of a choom, and it's my day of doing good deeds, anyway.”

Johnny stares wistfully at the package of smokes V's dangling in front of his face teasingly, and growls.

„Fine,” he says finally, resting his head against the wall to look at the sky, „but I want my questions too. Ya want a girl's night, we're doing it the proper way.” He flicks his fingers at the package. „And you smoke me one right now.”

V shrugs, fishing out a lighter out of the pocket of his jeans.

„Fine by me.”

He lights the cig and takes a deep drag, smoke choking in his already booze-burned throat, but Johnny relaxes visibly next to him.

„Now, that's better.” He sighs and motions for V to continue. „Fire up, kid.”

V smokes the cig half the way down (because he's just nice that way, that's what he is), before speaking up again.

„You're a cat person, or a dog person?”

Johnny barks a laugh, an honest to God, genuine laugh, one that V might've never heard of him yet.

„Really?” he says finally, shaking his head, and still giggling a little, „That's what ya wanna know?”

V grins widely.

„Hell yeah, I do. So? Which is it?”

„Dogs,” Johnny says, without hestitation, „I don't even like cats all that much.”

„Why?”

„'Cause they're just lil' fuckers, acting like they know shit, and then taking a dump into a box. Fuckin' posers, that's what they are.”

V lifts one eyebrow, taking another drag, until he feels the cig burning the tips of his fingers.

„Take it the only poser ya like havin' around's yourself, huh?”

„Know what, V? Fuck you. This was meant to be a bloody safe space. My turn now, and smoke me a cig.”

V obediently retrieves another smoke out of his pocket, and sighs.

„I'mma puke, ya know?”

„Yeah, with all that booze ya drank, you'll puke anyway, might as well not let your suffering go to waste.” Johnny's eyes glint maliciously, lit up faintly from the inside of his nonexistent body. „Now, choom, you tell me: how long have you been sporting the crush on that mushroom-haired gal pal of yours?”

V chokes on his vodka, which can be very conveniently covered up as yet another caughing fit.

„What, on Misty?” he sputters finally, wiping out blood from the corners of his mouth, „Where the fuck did ya get that one from?”

„Outta your pathetic ass. You've been gettin' all slushy 'round her from day one I met ya, thought you were havin' a heart attack the first time round. Seriously, kid, stop it, get some help, it ain't normal to get this jiggly over a chick.” He looks at him expentantly. „So? How long has this shitshow been goin' on for?”

V feels himself blushing a little, but booze's starting to kick in anyway, and it's not like anyone could ever see it in this pinkish gloom the city's covered in.

The sole fact, that he's been having this non-stop thing going on with Misty, is almost as weird, as Misty herself. And fuck, she's always been the top brand of weird, ever since that first day Jackie brought V to her shop, and she was sitting behind the counter, her hair puffy from the smoke of incense, fingers shuffling an old deck of cards with a practised ease of someone, who's been doing it for so long, he doesn't even have to think about it; muscles just do all the job. Jackie went to see Vik, and V sat there, half-heartedly wondering weather or not his choom's girl is a little mental, while she was reading his tarot, tapping gently against each card with her fingertips.

She told him that he'd been a fool for a very long time, and he told her that it was exactly what everyone kept telling him his entire life, so it wasn't exactly new. She frowned, said that the cards were really weird about him, and lit some herb, that smelled a little like a mint chewing gum, but with a tinge of wet soil to it.

Sage, she called it, to get rid off all the ghosts, clinging to him.

He didn't have no ghosts, had no reason to have any, he was pretty sure about that, but the way she said it, how she seemed to believe in every single word, there was just something so sweet in all that, he fell for her a little, anyway.

V clears his throat, pushing hair away from his face.

„I kinda... always had a crush on her, I guess, ever since I met her, and that was like...” he chuckles, shaking his head, „shit, feels like ages ago, now. I mean, I still do have a crush on her, it's just that... well, she's my best friend's girl, so it was never, uh...” He sniffs and rubs his nose, trying his best to look chill. „She'll always be my best friend's girl, 's all.”

Johnny looks at him curiously, eyes glistening in the cloud of smoke from the cig V's still holding between his fingers.

„You got some shit going on 'bout other people's things, don't you? I mean, fuck, you're the most messed up kleptomaniac I've seen in my life, you literally can't look at anything without wanting to snatch it.”

„I'd never snatch my choom's chick, you fuckin' jackass, why do I even...”

„Yeah, you wouldn't, you're fucked up like that, too. Whatever. More smokin' less talkin'.”

V takes another drag of the ciggarette and lights up the next one with the remaining ember.

„A'ight, my turn, Johnny-boy.” He points at Silverhand's chest with the glowing end of the smoke. „Have ya ever been in love? But like, head over hills, and all that shit?”

Johnny groans, hitting his head against the wall.

„Goin' all high-school girl, V, just peachy.”

„You started it, choom.”

„Oh, yeah, and now here we are, two bros chillin' in a hot tub. I'm gonna fuckin' puke.”

„I'd love to see that,” V deadpans automatically, „and the fuck is it 'bout the hot tub?”

Johnny waves his hand dismissively.

„Doesn't matter. You're just hopeless.”

„Yeah, says the guy who blew himself up for nothin'. Now, spill.”

For a short while, Johnny looks like he's gonna disappear the hell out of the roof, but then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

„Shit, guess I was, once.” He rests his head against the wall, looking at something V can't see, fingers drumming against his knee. „Back when I was sixteen, or seventeen, with Caroline fuckin' Jenkins, the prettiest chick my shithole of a hometown has ever seen.”

V can't help it, it just floats into the surface of his mind, and there's nothing he could do about it; all of the sudden, the air smells of something warm and heavy, that makes his head spin, and he's sure nothing he's ever smelled before could even come close to it, his skin's all brown with the sun, and his knuckles are bruised.

And then, there's the girl, sitting on a low tree branch, golden hair a cascade down her back, a vine of small, delicate flowers in her hand; she's picks them off the vine, slowly, one by one, kisses their tips and drops them onto the grass below her dangling feet, that's now littered with white petals. She lifts up her head, and motions for him to come closer, her eyes as blue, as the Sunday sky

( _why, why would Sunday sky be more blue, than on any other day?_

 _oh, it doesn't matter,_ something whispers, _it's not your memory, anyway)_

her fingers are sticky, when they brush against his skin, as she offers him a handful of flowers, and he can almost feel the sweetnes, at the back of his tongue, and she's the single most beautiful girl he's ever seen, the most beautiful girl in the world, and it's all...

„Yeah, that's the bitch.”

V almost winces when he's drawn back to the rooftop, the cig burning his skin, and a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

„Sorry,” he mutters, washing it down with another sip of booze.

Johnny shrugs, unusually quiet for himself.

„Will you stop fuckin' apologizing for breathin'? It's not your damn fault.”

„She was a sight to see, I'll give you that.”

Johnny snickers softly.

„Gotta say, I still consider gettin' to Caroline's pussy the greatest achievement of my youth.” He closes his eyes, getting comfortable against the wall. „Fuck, I was so smitten, I was just 'bout to let her drag me to the altar, would ya believe that?”

V squints at him, the world swimming a little before his eyes.

„Yeah, no.” He bites down on his cig, and crawls off the wall to sit next to Johnny, not trusting himself enough not to fall off the roof anymore. „So? What happened to ya two sweethearts?”

„Nothin'. I went to the war, and she went to fuck some dickhead next doors, marry him and pop out some whelps, 's all.”

„Oh.”

Johnny gives him a sharp look.

„Tell me you ain't gonna get mushy over some cheap love story from over half a bloody century ago, 'cause I'll shoot us both if you do.”

„I'm not getting mushy,” V grins cheekily, „I'm just tryin' to picture a little, love sick Johnny, you know, one that actually had a _heart._ And fuck me, it's a tough thing to imagine.”

Johnny shifts uncomfortably next to him; a distant sound of a Trauma Team jet echoes among the megablocks.

„Shit, that was miserable.” He lifts his own cigarette to his lips, and V mirrors his movement, breathing in the smoke in perfect synch. „Alright: cars or bikes?”

V looks at him with a frown.

„Like, when have ya ever even seen me riding anything _but_ a bike?”

„Fuck, V, for all I know, you're such a sentimental pussy, you'd ride a bloody unicycle, if that was what that choom of yours left ya. Just because you're taking that thing everywhere, that's one shitty clue.”

V's just about to snap something at him, but ends up rolling his eyes. Which is a shitty move, by the way, beacuse the world around him starts spinning at an alarming speed, and he feels bile, rising up to his throat.

„You might actually have a point,” he says, after managing to rinse the nausea with another swig of vodka.

He hears Johnny's chuckle next to him, but turning his head seems like a very bad idea right now.

„Now, that's how I know you've had enough.”

„Tsch.” V silences him, trying to lift the cigarette to his mouth and failing spectacularly, 'cause shit, the booze sure as fuck took its sweet time, but now it's kicking in like a bitch. V giggles uncontrollably.

„Kickin' in, get it?” he slurs, leaning slightly into Johnny, and almost losing his balance, after not meeting warm flesh to rest his suddenly all too heavy head on, and shit, it stings way more than it should.

„Oh, fuck me, kid, you're drunk as shit. And you ain't even a fun drinker.”

„I'm plenty fun drinker,” V slurs, pushing himself into a slightly more upwards position, „I'm just havin' a real shitty time in my life right now, s' all, but you wait 'till it's dealt with, you lil' fucker, I'm gonna show ya fun.”

Johnny doesn't answer, and it takes V full half a minute to finally realise what he just said.

„Shit, I'm sorry, choom, I'm...”

„Just slow the hell down, kid,” Johnny cuts him off, his voice chill as ever, „it'll be damn shame if I don't get to fuck Arasaka just 'cause you choke on your own puke.”

Johnny's face floats into V's field of view, and he's desperately fighting to keep his eyes open.

„Lie down.”

„I'm' jus' fine, I don't need to...”

„ _Lie. Down.”_

„Fine, 'm lyin' chill...” V grumbles, sliding himself down into a horizontal position, and immediately regretting it, when he feels a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach.

„Shit, I'm gonna...”

„Yeah, I know. Turn onto the right side, back against the wall.”

„'kay, mum...”

„Oh, yeah, you keep flappin' that fuckin' mouth of yours, and you're gonna punch yourself in the face.”

V does as he's told, giggling, when the world does a whole frickin' backflip around him, and seconds later he starts wishing he could just die, or at least upchuck all of his insides. He whimpers softly, curling up on himself.

„Mr. Silverhand, I don't feel so good...”

Johnny scoffs, like he's in on some joke V doesn't get, and honestly, he doesn't even want to be on it right now; he shuts his eyes close, though it does very little to stop his head from pretending they're on some fucking merry-go-round.

„Just let it go, kid.”

„NO.” V curls up some more, clutching onto his own jacket and panting heavily. „I... never... puke... after vodka... fuuuck...” He moans softly, pressing his forhead against the cool concrete.

„There ain't no shame in that, you drank... damn kid, you just drank the whole bottle.”

„But it wasn't just a bottle!” V sobs, regretting every decision he's made in his life, starting with taking the very first breath. „I've already... ugh, I've already had some shots... before comin' 'ere... oh, nooo...”

He can pinpoint the exact second his stomach finally decides that this is where it draws the line and gives up; acid rises up his gullet, a rancid taste in his mouth, and in the last blink of an eye before the catastrophy, V decides to do the only reasonable thing one can do, when his own guts decide to fail him in the moment of trial.

He fucking gulps it down.

„Fuck me, V, didn't think you'd be _that_ good a swallower. Gotta give it to ya, that's some damn fine technique you got right there.”

„Yeah, fuck you,” V slurs, trying not to think about what he just did, „I ain't... wastin'... decent... booze...”

„Now, that's my boy!”

V just mewls softly, hugging himself tightly; he could swear something pleasantly cold brushes his hair out of his clammy forhead and he leans slightly into the touch, still without opening his eyes.

„V.”

„Mhm.”

„You check out right now, and I'm gonna kick your sorry ass. Talk to me.”

V takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his still rebellious stomach and catch a little more of that sweet, cool breeze, caressing his hair.

„'M into bikes,” he manages finally, „always have.” He snorts softly. „Ya know, I tried to steal Jackie's ride, once?”

„No shit.”

V grins at his memory.

„Yeah, that was long before we even met, I was like, fifteen or somethin', and he was still runnin' with 'em Valentino fuckers. Thought it was like, the coolest bike in the hood, so sure thing, I tried to snatch it, and it was all goin' smooth as shit, 'til Padre caught me, sneakin' out of the garrage with the ride. He went full on beast mode on me, so yeah, I gave it up.” He chuckles lightly. „I never told Jackie 'bout that one, figured he might still break my legs for even tryin', with the way he was 'bout that bike. You shoulda heard him, sometimes you just couldn't tell if he was talkin' 'bout Misty or his ride.”

Johnny doesn't answer, but V feels his presence right next to him; he sighs and clears his throat.

„'m kay, my turn. What's your favourite food?”

„Rotisserie chicken.”

„For real?”

„Uh-huh. Not like you'd get it, with that synthetic crap ya'll buy these days. Tastes like shit, smells even worse.”

„Hey, just 'cause I'm broke as fuck and eat cardboard, doesn't mean it's all...”

„Yeah, whatever. Favourite booze?”

„Vodka.”

V can almost see Johnny's shit-eating grin.

„Thought it was tequila."

„Yeah, tequila's all right,” V mutters, hiccuping a little, „but she's also a traitorous bitch. Vodka never lies, she's gonna fuck ya up, and she's totally honest 'bout that.”

„Huh. So it's not like you keep gettin' screwed over 'cause you're a loser, you're just a fuckin' masochist.”

„I can't believe I'm still talkin' to ya.”

„You started it, choom. See, that's what I'm talkin' about, you just...”

„Yeah, yeah, I'm an idiot, shut the fuck up, it's my question time. What was the first song you learned to play?”

Johnny scoffs next to him.

„Fuck, that was more than half a century ago, how should I know?”

„Oh, c'mon, I'm not buyin' it. Ya remember _everything_ 'bout yourself, and that sure as hell ain't somethin' you'd forget, Johnny-boy.”

„Think so, smartass? You'd be fuckin' surprised.”

There's a moment of silence; the air smells of cigarette smoke and dust and it's warm, even warmer than it was just after sunset, or maybe it's just that V's more drunk. Or both. Summer's still yet to begin, after all.

And it's just so fucking _unfair,_ because V loves summer, and he's been waiting a whole year for it, and now, that it's almost there, he's not even gonna get a chance to enjoy it. He won't be eating Mama Lee's Limited Summer Edition Ice Creams, and he won't go to any of those gigs, the Nomads throw in the Badlands on Saturday evenings, and he won't be complaining about the heat, now that he might actually have someone to complain to, and he won't...

„It was _Oh, Susanna.”_

V finally plops his eyes open; Johnny's sitting right next to him, leaning against the wall and soundlessly drumming his metal fingers against his knee. V frowns slightly.

„Is it that folk shit? Banjos, Alabama, somethin' somethin', droppin' dead?”

„Yeah, that's the one.” Johnny puffs a cloud of holographic smoke and flicks the nonexistent ash, while V's still staring at him in disbelief.

„You're fuckin' with me.”

„Nope.”

„But.. why?”

Johnny shrugs; his fingers are tapping even faster, _one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three-four._

„My old man, he was a bloody sucker for all these shitty, country songs,” _onetwothree, onetwothree, onetwothree,_ „so, when I bought my first guitar, I though I could do the fucker a pleasure and learn to play somethin' he'd enjoy, like a damn good whelp that I was.”

There's something creeping up into V's chest, some weird scrap of a feeling, that could have been a pounding heart and sweaty hands, once, long, long time ago; his muscles tense ever so slightly, as if bracing for impact, and it's

_onetwothree, onetwothree, onetwothreefour_

„I couldn't fuckin' sleep 'cause of that crap two nights in the row,” he mutters, trying to sit up without moving his head too much, „I knew it was your fault, there was no way in hell I could've picked up anythin' that shitty.”

„Shitty's the only kind of things you do.”

V just snorts, retrieving a smoke from his pocket; he takes a deep chug, watching as Johnny's metal fingers twitch slower and slower, until his whole hand rests calmly right next to his own.

„Fuck me, Samurai, you're worse than a cockroach. You've been rolling on the ground half an hour ago, and here you are now, in all your pain in the ass glory.”

V snickers, resting his head against the wall and looking up into the bleak sky.

„Yeah, I got troubles stayin' down.”

„That you sure as hell do.” Johnny puffs a perfect circle of smoke, that dissolves quickly in the smoggy air. „A'ight, so: Panam or Judy?”

V huffs a small laugh, stifling a caugh, that threatens to wreck his lungs.

„I'm pretty sure Judy plays for the other team, choom.”

„Yeah, and you got brains of a mentally delayed three-year-old. Abstract thinkin' c'mon, you can do it. I fuckin' believe in ya.”

„You mean like...”

„I mean like, you walk into a bar, they're both sittin' there, which one do you take home. Go.”

„You're such a dick, y'know?”

„Mhm, if I got an eddie every time I hear that, I could just buy Arasaka, instead of goin' through all that shit. Now, go.”

V closes his eyes, trying to fight a stupid grin, threatening to crawl onto his face.

„Pan, all the way.”

Johnny lets out a raspy laugh.

„See, it wasn't that hard.” He flicks his fingers at the cigarette in V's hand, and he lifts it to his lips, 'cause he's such a good guy tonight. „Gotta give it to her, that ass-first introduction works miracles.”

„Oh, you fuckin' perv...”

„Hey, I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, right? Girl knows she's hot as hell, ain't nothin' wrong with that.”

There's _some_ thruth to that, and V's way too tired and way too drunk to be in a mood for a fight, so he decides to just let it go.

„Fine. If you could relive one day in your life, which one would it be? And before ya start flexin' 'bout that day ya finally got into Rogue's panties, or some other shit,” he adds, seeing as Johnny opens his mouth with a really ugly gleam in his eyes, „I mean, seriously. One day of all days, don't disappoint me.”

Johnny shuts up for a moment, and V's wondering if he's just doing some mental showdown between all the chicks he's ever scored, trying to pick one he'd like to do again the most.

„'Kay, I got it.”

V eyes him suspiciously.

„If you throw me into some fuckin' dwarf porn BD, I swear, I'm really gonna shoot us both in the head tonight.”

Johnny rolls his eyes.

„It ain't no porn, trust me. And smoke me a cig.”

V does as he's told, takes a chug, holds his breath, and closes his eyes

_the grass is high, so high, he can barely see anything above it, hundreds of big, dun insects flying up from beneath his feet with every step, heated, still air vibrating with deafening buzzing and clicking, like the meadow is full of some old, broken machines, calling in the bloody sunset. The grass rustles somewhere close, and when he turns his head, there's a long-legged, white dog, trotting a little ahead of him like a slender ghost; it slows down to look at him, sleek fur brushing against his leg, before it disappears back into the thicket without a sound._

_A weight shifts on his back and a laughter echoes in the racket around them._

„ _I got one!”_

_A tiny girl, sitting on his shoulders, leans down to look him in the eye, grinning so widely, it looks like her face's about to crack in two._

„ _Look!”_

_He chuckles and peeks through a small space between her fingers, to look at something she's holding in cupped hands._

_The critter's sitting calmly on her palm, its translucent wings folded neatly against its sides, staring right back at him with empty eyes, and then its tail starts shaking, and the girl lets out a surprised yelp, dropping the insect. The corners of her mouth curve slightly downwards._

„ _You'll catch one later, if you want to,” he says, „or, even tomorrow. They ain't goin' anywhere just yet.”_

„ _Promise?”_

„ _Yeah, I promise. I'll help you, if you'd like.”_

_The girl lets out a delighted squeal, clasping her hands in pure awe._

„ _Yes! Oh, we'll have so many, we'll catch all the fishies out there, right?”_

_He nudges her side with a thumb, and she squirms on his shoulders, giggling loudly._

„ _Sure thing, kid.”_

_They reach an enormous tree, right in the middle of the meadow. He never thought plants could ever get that big, its long, twisted branches forming a wide canopy, the lowest of them bending gently to the ground and then curving up again, as if smiling, extending inviting arms towards them. When they come closer, he brushes his fingers against rough, cracked bark in a welcoming gesture, before he helps the girl onto the branch; she catches onto it like she's got suckers on her hands and climbs right up, and up, and up, without any effort, disappearing amidst dark leaves._

_There's something cold, touching his palm; the dog's back, sitting right next to him, voiceless and still like a wraith, with its slender legs and long, silver-white coat, but it licks his fingers, when he strokes its velvety ear, and curls up right under the tree trunk. He smiles at it and follows the girl up the tree, as quickly, as he can, only to find her already curled up in a comfortable nest, formed by the tree's trunk and thick, firm branches. She makes some room, and as soon, as he slides into the hollow, glues herself to his side, her messy, black hair tickling his nose._

„ _'Night,” she mumbles into his chest._

_He doesn't answer, just puts a few strands of hair behind her ear and closes his eyes; the air's buzzing and buzzing and buzzing, and it feels like it's never going to quiet down again, like the sound's going to echo in his ears forever, no matter where he goes_

„Satisfied?”

V blinks in confusion, because all of the sudden it's all gone, the tree, the buzzing, the warm weight by his side, and it takes him a few solid seconds to get back to reality.

„You had a _sister?_ ”

„That's the second question, but yeah, I did.” He humms thoughtfully, as V's fighting with a lighter. „That night, we ran away from home for the entire summer, it was a pretty fuckin' cool time. She, ugh... She died the followin' year, I think.”

V freezes for a split second, a smoke half way to his lips, but then forces himself to focus.

„What was her name?”

Johnny's finger twitch slightly, so slightly, V thinks he might have imagined it.

„Susanna,” he says, looking at some AV floating in the distance, a small flicker of light on the horizon, „Could say, she was the only girl to ever break my fuckin' heart.” He blinks and turns his gaze back to V. „Now, my turn. What's the weirdest thing 'bout ya, one that you never tell anybody?”

V's first instinct is to brush this off with some snide remark, then he wants to say something like „my second toe's longer than the first”, but it somehow doesn't feel quite right at the moment, so he sighs, steeling himself for the inevitable downpour of shitty comments it's going to earn him.

„My dreams, I guess?”

„Kid, if you think your dreams are some edgy fuckin' shit, then I have bad news for ya...”

V shakes his head (which causes the world to go a little floaty again, but it's not too bad).

„Not the _usual_ dreams, jeez, I'm not that much of a fathead. I'm talkin' 'bout those... those weird ones. Haven't had 'em since ya got jacked into my head, but that's just what they do, they come, and they go, it's always been like that.” He watches a trail of smoke from the cigarette, gathering his thoughts. „So, yeah, I get these weird dreams sometimes, and I mean, they're strange as fuck, like, sometimes, I'll dream of a world, in which the sky is dead, somehow. Or, of some crazy-ass blokes in armors, takin' a jog across your wide blue yonder, horses and dogs 'n shit. Or, I dream that I've got a brother and a sister, and when I wake up, I just... I fuckin' miss 'em so much, like they're real people. And here's the fun part: all that crap? They don't even feel like no dreams at all, more like... dunno, memories, or some other shit.” He turns around to flick the ash, and watches the tiny sparks fall down, down and down, into the neon-lit darkness below them. „Guess that's what ya get for being broke as fuck and chucking some fishy af, second-hand chrome into your brains.”

Johnny gives him a funny look.

„Damn, you just eased my conscience on fuckin' up your noddle, kid. Ya were wrong in the head all along.”

„Great minds are alike, Johnny-boy.”

„Mhm. Alright, let's get out of this shithole, before I fuckin' kill myself. What's the worst job you ever took?”

V scratches his chin thoughtfully.

„Ya mean, besides the one that basically got me killed?”

„Yeah, besides that one. The job wasn't all that shitty, by the way, you just have a weird habit of sticking everything you see right into your brain. Bet that's all 'bout some beef you had with your daddy, or some shit like that.”

V sighs, sitting up and looking down, to the world below.

The city's still there, sure it is, buzzing with sounds, pulsing with endless flood of people; it's there, just beyond the tiny, brick wall they're leaning against.

„It's kinda disgusting,” V says finally, throwing the cigarette end into the thin streak of darkness between them and the blinding lightness below, „and it's not technically a gig, but it goes like this: some time after me and Jackie met, he asked me to do some favor for a choom of his. Thing is, that choomba? He was a Valentino, meaning, the only thing I was gonna get outta the whole thing was not gettin' shot in the head in some dark alley, so it was a shitty gig from the start, but one, I just got a new chrome done and was really not into gettin' it scratched by any of 'em fuckers, and two, I owed Jackie eddies for one poker night, so I hoped I could guilt him into letting it go if I went with him. Anyway, that Valentino, he had a bae, and she ditched him for some choom in Watson. He didn't want Tyger Claws to walk on him, messin' around on their turf, so he hired us to grab the guy, put him in the trunk and drive him all the way down to Heywood. Yeah, so, me and Jackie, we get into my lovely fuckin' ride, and I'm tellin' ya: she was a damn beauty, a sweet, sweet Quadra I bought from Padre and spent two fuckin' months scrubbing brains off those white seats, but hell, she was worth it. So, we take her, we go to the guy's place, but as soon as we get there, we see him, hanging on the fuckin' fan. And I mean like, he's been hanging there for quite a while, 'cause fuck me, I've never smelled anything so bad in my life. Jackie calls that choom of his, tells him the deal, but the he's like „I don't give a shit, I want the guy in Heywood”, and I'm like, well, that guy's a Valentino, _and_ he's straight up retarded, so we do as he says. We take the guy off the fan, stuff him in some bag we found 'round there, and then I realise I'm fucked, 'cause know what? Quadra's don't have fuckin' trunks. So, we put him on the back seat, start driving, basically crying there, 'cause that choom in the back's reeking worse than toxic waste from All Food's, and of course, there go the badges, tailing us. There's no way we could pull this off if they stopped us, so Jackie tells me to hit it, I hit it, the badges start blasting, Jackie starts blasting back, and ya know, I've only rode that car like, three times, maybe, so I had no fuckin' idea she had that funny thing, that when you sped up too quickly, the driving wheel'd block for a second. So, I crash full on into some shop, people are screamin', I'm screamin', Jackie's still blastin', our choomba in the back seat got a lil' squished, so he's leaking all over the seats. Guess Jackie ran out of the ammo at that point, 'cause he pulled me out of the Quadra, told me to grab the guy and get the fuck outta there, before the badges manage to get in. So yeah, I do as he says, and we sneak our way back to Heywood.” V chuckles lightly. „In the end, the Quadra got completly annihilated, the choom from the back was all over us, and on like, every single corner of Heywood, I had to throw out my favourite jacket and me and Jackie had to stay out of Watson for a few weeks, but yeah. At least we lived, I guess.”

Johnny huffs a small laugh, shaking his head pityingly.

„Fuck me, it was a shitty gig.”

„Yeah, I was never good with dead guys.” V grabs the bottle of vodka, lying forgotten on the floor, only to discover that, to his great disappointment, it's one hundred percent empty. Which doesn't stop him from shaking it anyway, just to make sure. „Okay, my turn: who did ya want to be, when you were a kid?”

Johnny stretches out comfortably, putting his hands behind his head.

„A car mechanic.”

„A... car mechanic?”

Johnny just smiles smugly.

„Fuck yeah. All that grease, engines, trickin' suckers into payin' twice as much as they should, that seemed cool as hell.” He yawns, and closes his eyes. „Then, I wanted to be a music teacher.”

V looks at him curiously, his head tilted slightly to the side, the bottle still dangling upside down in his hand.

„Yeah, I could kinda see that.”

Johnny plops one eye open to shoot him a suspicious glance.

„That so?”

„Sure,” V finally manages to catch the last, tiny droplet of vodka onto his tongue, „I mean, I guess you'd still be low-key drunk on half of your lessons, and then you'd get suspended for sleeping with the senior girls, but I suppose it could work. Like, poorly, but still.”

„Yeah, I don't know 'bout that.” Johnny's picking absently at some pebble on the floor; the pebble remains unimpressed. V watches him for a while, before fetching another cig out of his pocket.

„Ain't that the most stupid fuckin' thing in the world?”

„What?”

V throws his arms in the air, exasperated all of the sudden.

„That you'll never get to know if you'd be a good teacher. Or, a mechanic, or whetever the fuck else.” He huffs a big cloud of smoke. „I mean, of all the things a man can be, ya only ever get to be _one._ And that's just so fuckin' shitty, 'cause, I don't know, maybe I'd be a damn awesome taxi driver, or maybe you'd be selling the best chilli dogs in this fuckin' city, or, hell, maybe if we were both born some thirty years ago in the same hood, we'd both be billionaires right now, 'cause we came up with some ass-kickin' idea of making eadible, marshmallow-flavoured underwear, but nah. We only get one body, one place and one time, one try at all that, and if you fuck it up? Well, that's too bad, nobody gives a shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall. „And even if you don't fuck up, even if you do it all right and you get the best life anyone's ever had it's still... it's still _so little,_ y'know?” He looks at the empty sky, hanging above them. „It's still so, so little.”

Johnny scoffs next to him.

„My fuckin' congratulations, Samurai, you've finally realised life's a pointless shitfest. Know what's the best part? Even if you gave 'em a thousand tries, most people would still screw it all up, 'cause they're just too stupid, too naive, too fuckin' lazy to do anything, unless there's a gun pointed to their heads. We've been running in bloody circles for generations now, making the same mistakes we've been making in the fuckin' stone age, that's how hopeless we are as a species.”

„But maybe if...”

Johnny groans in frustration, throwing his cig away; it disappears as soon, as it meets the ground.

„There ain't no 'what if', kid, we're born stupid, we die stupid, and it's a good thing we only get one go, 'cause watching the same people fucking everything up by doing the exact same things, over and over again? Fuck me, that would be even more miserable, than what we have now.”

V thinks it's all not quite right, that Johnny's getting it all wrong, but he's still too drunk, too tired and too sore to argue, so he just hugs himself tightly, resting his chin on his knees, and wishing, just a tiny, little bit, that he wasn't so alone on this rooftop, that there was someone, anyone there with him, so that this empty fucking sky wouldn't be hanging so low above him, and him only.

Because no matter how much's coming about down there, the sky is so damn hollow, like the city's swallowed all that was up above it, and some messed up, very drunk part of V whispers, that the sky's probably really, really mad about it right now. And that's kinda scary.

„Oh, don't tell me you're gonna fuckin' cry.”

Johnny materializes right in front of him, crouched so close to V's curled up form, that had he had a body, V could probably feel his warmth; there's nothing there, though, just the mild air of a summer night, and V shivers, before hugging himself a little tighter.

„I'm not.”

„Still, you look like shit.”

V shoots him a sharp look, but there's no mockery in Johnny's face, just something like frustration, that disappears way too quickly for V to properly think about it.

„Yeah, I'm still dyin' so. Doubt you've been such an eye catcher after good ol' Saburo got to your stupid ass, either.”

There it is again, this tiny, fleeting twitch to Johnny's metal fingers, gone in an instant, before he dissolves into blue lines of code, only to reappear seconds later, seated against the wall next to V once again.

„Do one thing for me, and get some sleep after we get you out of this mess.”

„Yeah, I can promise you that,” V mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, „I'm gonna rent myself one of 'em hybernation chambers and check out for like, a week. Fuck, it's gonna be awesome.”

Johnny nods, clearly satisified, and gets himself comfortable. Meaning, he just pulls another smoke out of thin air.

„Right, so: if you could pick one place in the world you'd like to see the most, where would you go?”

V humms thoughtfully, absently spinning the empty bottle.

„There's this one spot I'd like to go to,” he starts finally, eyes still on the bottle, „but the thing is, I have no idea where it is.” He chuckles softly. „Hell, I don't even know if it exists, so dunno if that counts.”

Johnny just shrugs.

„You're talkin' to a by-product of your fucked up brain, so I'd give it a pass.”

„Well, my mum, she was always goin' on 'bout some village she was born in. She was wrong in the head, though, so that's probably all made up, but she just would't shut up 'bout how she'd take me there one day, how she'd show me the house she grew up in, and we'd be sleepin' on the roof on the summer nights, and play hide'n'seek in the fields, and I could be runnin' in the woods all day long and eatin' grapes straight from the vine, 'till I fuckin' puked, all that shit. No idea what kind of wonderland that might be, but yeah, if I could, I'd go there, no second thoughts.”

„Don't want to spoil it for ya, kid, but last I've heard, you got rid of the last forest in the state some twenty years ago.”

V sighs in resignation.

„I know! I know, okay? Still, it just sounds like... a damn nice place to be in, so. It's not like I'd ever have a chance to find it, even if it was real in the first place.”

„Mhm.” Johnny turns his head to look at a Trauma Team convoy, passing nearby. „Still, you'll have quite some time on your hands, if we pull this off, so it can't hurt to try.”

V makes a noncommittal grunt, studying the engravings on his lighter, before he lights up a cig.

„A'ight, my go. Which one you couldn't live without the most, booze, smokes or pills?”

Johnny smiles smugly.

„What, ya tryin' to figure out how to be one of 'em cool kids?”

„No, I'm tryin' to figure out what I should avoid, so I don't become a complete asshole.”

„Yeah, 'cause I wouldn't want that to happen to my favourite puppy.”

„Johnny...”

„Fine. I'mma go with the pills.”

V looks at him in surprise.

„For real?”

„Mhm.”

„Then how the fuck come ya never wake me up whinin' for those in the middle of the night?”

„Because I'm a good choom like that, that's how.” V's face must be some fucking definition of doubt, beacuse Johnny finally cracks up and sighs. „Okay, fine, here goes the sappy story for your mushy fuckin' heart. Back when they were recruiting suckers for the Central American War, they'd give ya a guarantee, that if you get butchered, they gonna patch you up so good, you'll be a fuckin' work of art. Implants were some pricey shit back then, so sure as hell, we were all signin' up like fuckin' lemmings, low-key hoping we'd at least get one limb chopped off, 'cause that sweet military chrome was just waitin' for us, if we sucked those corpo dicks like good lil' boys.” He puffs a perfect circle of smoke, watching it dissolve completly before speaking up again. „What they didn't tell us, was that most of that prime tech were just untested prototypes, and since none of 'em corpo fuckers was 'bout to waste too much of their eddies and best little minions on running some tests, they just packed all that crap onto planes, together with a bunch of medical students, who learned 'bout installing those from a leaflet, and flied 'em straight to Central Fuckin' America.” He chuckles, shaking his head. „So yeah, this arm? Dunno if it was just fucked up from the start, or if those baby eggheads botched it, but I spent a whole week screamin' my lungs out, 'till they finally popped some proper pills out of their asses to shut me up.” He slowly clenches his metal fingers, and V watches as they curl up into a fist, imagining soft clicks of steel joints. „Tried to get it fixed, after I got the eddies, but there was nothin' there to go on, they made such a fuckin' mess, it was either goin' armless, or letting this shit be and poppin' pills.”

Now, that's fucked up.

V opens his mouth and closes it again, before realising there's no way in hell he's gonna come up with a better way to describe it.

„That's fucked up, choom.”

„Yeah, heard ya the first time. I'm still in your head, in case you forgot.”

„Oh.” V blinks, a little confused. „I'm...”

„Don't say it.”

„Wha... why not?”

„'Cause it doesn't make any fuckin' sense for you to be sorry about somethin' that happened half a century ago, to a guy you've never even known, and who's been dead for fifty years now, that's why. Save your crap for someone who actually cares for it.”

„Fine, I won't say it.” V puffs an annoying strand of hair out of his eyes. „I _am_ sorry, though.”

Johnny sighs in defeat.

„I know. You're just fuckin' hopeless.”

V rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes; his body's still pleasantly numb and warm with the booze, distant sounds of the city turning into a soft buzz; he stifles a yawn, feeling a little floaty.

„You should go to sleep.”

„Mhm,” he murmurs into the leather of his jacket, „just five more minutes.” He plops one eye open. „Your turn, Johnny-boy.”

Johnny nods slowly, his form flickering a little.

„So, what's up with that whole 'V' thing? Don't like your real name, or what?”

V chuckles quietly.

„It's kinda stupid, honestly.”

„What a surprise.”

V fights a very immature urge to show him his tongue, but then decides he's just above it.

„So, my mum, she was cranky as fuck, had a whole bunch of these weird things 'bout her, y'know, like, she believed that breakin' a mirror means seven years of bad luck, or that if ya see a black dog you're gonna die soon, all that shit. One thing she was super serious about was that crap, that if ya give someone your real name, they'll be able to curse ya, and it... dunno, it just kinda stuck with me, I guess. It's not like I even believe in it,” he added, seeing Johnny's mocking grin, „'s just that... Well, I'm just so used to people not knowin' my name, it feels kinda weird when they call me by it, so. That's all.”

„Fuck, V, that whole family of yours set some new damn standards for 'weird'. Ya ever considered lookin' for your old man in a nuthouse?”

„Crossed my mind, gotta say.” V picks at a small scab on his little finger. „It would make sense, honestly. Lass banged some mate of hers there, hit the road, popped out a kid.” He stretches, fighting another yawn, joints cracking softly. „Guess I'll never know. A'ight, so: one thing you wish you hadn't done.”

Johnny shrugs.

„Ain't no such.”

„Really?”

„Mhm.”

„Not even, I don't know, nuking half of the fuckin' city for nothin'?”

Johnny gives him that shitty, patronizing look V hates so much, he wishes he could just punch him, there and then.

„Would I do it again now? Nah. Would I do it again back then? Fuck, I would.”

V scoffs.

„I knew you're one hell of a nutjob, but fuck me, you offed hundreds of people, just to tell Saka they can suck your dick, and you never even had second thoughts, did ya?” He shakes his head in disbelief, but Johnny just sneers at him.

„Look at you, Mother Teresa, the guardian fuckin' angel we all deserve. Let me get your head outta your ass: people were dying already, thousands of 'em, while those dicks were just sittin' there, in their pretty little tower, thinkin' they're invincible, and no one was going to do anything about it, so it's not like there was some sort of salvation for us, if we just sat on our asses and kept waiting for fuck knows how long for the corpos to learn to share their toys. I'm sorry it hurts your pure, maiden heart, but if I had to blow up some uptight bastards, to save thousands of folks, who were just too stupid to save themselves, then yeah, I'd fuckin' do it again.”

V lights another cig, inhaling the smoke angrily.

„Killin' chooms ain't no way to solve things.”

„Y'know, sometimes I can't tell if you're naive, or just plain dull. FYI, it's actually the only way to solve things, and has been one, ever since some monkey found out, that if she hits the other monkey with a stone hard enough, she can eat that juicy brains out of her skull.”

„But that's just the thing!” V huffs, pointing the cigarette in the vague direction of the city below, „You, your chooms, 'em corpos, ya'll makin' it all 'bout poking each other's eyes out, 'till we all go fuckin' blind.”

„Yeah, 'cause we could just hold our hands and go all Ring a Ring 'o Rosie, fuckin' grow up, V.”

„Oh, you're all too serious men for that, I know,” V growls, teeth clenched on the cig, „but it would be nice if you just _cared,_ that you're screwing over one another and like, everyone else around.”

„Don't need to, we got fuckin' mercs, willin' to suffer for the atrocities of the world. Since you're such a saint, then pray tell, what do you regret, apart form chucking random tech into your fuckin' skull? Ya stepped on some puppy's tail? Squished a cockroach? Cheated a vending machine?”

„Nah, I just killed my mother.”

Now, if Johnny Silverhand is even capable of being left speechless, then that's probably it right now, and V can't help a smug smile, finding its way onto his lips.

„Gotta say, I didn't see that comin'.”

„Many a things you've not seen comin', Johnny-boy, that's nothin' new.”

Johnny just lets it slide, and V's kinda greatful for that. The cig's burning up slowly, glistening in the soft breeze, a thin trail of smoke floating into the gloomy sky above them; V waits until the ember reaches his fingertips, before he stumps it, small motes of dust staining his skin. He rests his head on his knees, tired to the bone, all of the sudden, like he could just fall asleep, and not wake up until the end of the century. Even the city seems to have quieted down a little, in those dreamy hours before the sunrise, too late to stay awake, but way too early to get up.

Such a weird time, all in the middle, not 'today' anymore, but not yet 'tomorrow'. Not quite on either side.

„You scared of dyin'?”

Johnny shrugs, without looking at him.

„That first time? Not much. Woulda found a way to off myself sooner or later, anyway. Now it's just been there, done that, fuck, it should even go easier this time 'round, since I'm dead already.” He chuckles lightly. „At least I get to go with a bang twice.” He shoots him a look, that could be almost cocerned, if V hadn't known him better. „Are you?”

V humms thoughtfully, before shaking his head.

„Well, I'm kinda worried it's gonna hurt like a bitch, but dyin' itself? Nah. I'm just...” A shiver runs down his spine, and V hugs himself tightly. „I guess I could be scared shitless of what's gonna come next.”

Johnny scoffs next to him.

„Fuck me, you were serious 'bout that whole God thing. Thought you just didn't wanna upset the Killer Jesus back then.”

„Hell yeah, I was.”

Johnny goes suspiciously silent for a while, before speaking again.

„Does it help, somehow? Believing in all those weird-ass fairytales, 'bout souls, gods and whatever else? Makes the fact, that you're just a dying bunch of raw, meaningless data suck less?”

„What, d'ya think I get all fuzzy and nice inside, 'cause I think I'm gonna go chillin' on clouds and playin' a bloody harph when I die? Fuck no. I'd be damn peachy if I could simply go dead and stay dead, fuckin' count me in, but you know what? I just don't think we'd be that lucky. If we're just data, then why the hell Alt's not Alt anymore, but, fuck me, of course, you're still you?”

„'Cause I haven't spent fifty years beyond the Blackwall, that's why.”

But V just shakes his head.

„I'm not buyin' it, choom. Life's twisted as fuck, don't see no reason why death should be any different. It's almost like some fuckin' trap, y'know? An easy way outta here, like hell I'm gonna believe that, it'd just be too nice.” A distant sound of gunshots echoes among the streets, way, down below. „Whatever's out there, I don't trust it one bit, but I'm still pretty sure it _is_ there.”

„You're delusional.”

„Yeah, maybe.”

„And fuck, for once I'm glad that you are.”

V shrugs.

„Suit yourself, choom, whetever makes you sleep at night.” He pushes himself up to sit on the wall, legs dangling beyond the edge of the roof, and turns his face to the faint, cool breeze. „My point is, though, I could be scared of all that, but I'm... Dunno, I'm just not. Like, no matter what I do, I'm still gonna die one day, there ain't no way around it, so there's no point worryin', I guess.”

Johnny flickers to sit right next to him, clearing his throat.

„So... no matter what happens tomorrow, we're good either way?”

V chuckles softly, fetching the last cigarette out of his pocket.

„Yeah, choom, we good either way.” He lights up the cig and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long, as he can, before letting it out; it hangs above them, a small cloud, lit dimly by the city lights, before a gentle breeze carries it into the night sky. „In the end, we all make it to the Afterlife, anyway.”

There are no stars above the Night City, but it doesn't matter; V can see them all, if he closes his eyes.

It's even better that they're not real, 'cause that just might be the only way to keep this city from devouring them as well.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it for now :D It might evolve into a bigger story, though, if I win the uneven fight with my pathological laziness and chronic lack of time and actually get into writing it, and that's never easy.
> 
> Anyway, if you enjoyed, consider leaving a comment or a kudo, but seriously, no pressure, you don't have to do anything if you don't wanna, and we'll still be cool, okay? And yeah, I talk too much, I'll shut up now.
> 
> I just hope you'll have a wonderful day, friend :D


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